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My widow'd country! Sweden! when I think | And what are fifty, what a thousand slaves,
Upon thy desolation, spite of rage-
Match'd to the sinew of a single arm
That strikes for liberty-that strikes to save
His fields from fire, his infants from the sword,
His couch from lust, his daughters from pol-
lution,

And vengeance that would choke them-tears will flow.

And O, they are villains, ev'ry Dane of them, Practis'd to stab and smile, to stab the babe That smiles upon them

Arn. What accursed hours

Roll o'er these wretches who to fiends like these,

In their dear liberty, have barter'd more
Than worlds will rate for!

Gus. O Liberty, Heaven's choice prerogative!
True bond of law, thou social soul of property,
Thou breath of reason, life of life itself!
For thee the valiant bleed. O sacred Liberty!
Wing'd from the summer's snare, from flatt'ring
ruin,

Like the bold stork you seek the wintry shore, Leave courts, and pomps, and palaces to slaves, Cleave to the cold and rest upon the storm. Upborne by thee, my soul disdain'd the terms Of empire offer'd at the hands of tyrants. With thee I sought this fav'rite soil; with thee These fav'rite sons I sought: thy sons, O Liberty !

For e'en amid the wilds of life you lead them, Lift their low-rafted cottage to the clouds, Smile o'er their heaths, and from their mountain tops

Beam glory to the nations.

All. Liberty! Liberty! Gus. Are ye not mark'd, ye men of Dalecarlia, Are ye not mark'd by all the circling world As the great stake, the last effort for liberty? Say, is it not your wealth, the thirst, the food, The scope and bright ambition of your souls? Why else have you, and your renown'd forefathers, [thrones From the proud summit of their glitt'ring Cast down the mightiest of your lawful kings, That dar'd the bold infringement? What but liberty, [years, Thro' the fam'd course of thirteen hundred Aloof hath held invasion from your hills, And sanctified their shade?-And will ye, will ye Shrink from the hopes of the expecting world; Bid your high honors stoop to foreign insult; And in one hour give up to infamy The harvest of a thousand years of glory? 1st Dale. No.

2d Dale. Never, never.

3d Dale. Perish all first.

4th Dale. Die all!

Gus. Yes, die by piece-meal! [umph!
Leave not a limb o'er which a Dane may tri-
Now from my soul I joy, I joy, my friends,
To see ye fear'd; to see that e'en your foes
Do justice to your valors! There they be,
The pow'rs of kingdoms, summ'd in yonder
host,

Yet kept aloof, yet trembling to assail ye.
And, Ó, when I look round and see you here,
Of number short, but prevalent in virtue,
My heart swells high, and burns for the en-

counter.

True courage but from opposition grows;

And his large honors from eternal infamy? What doubt we then? Shall we, shall we stand here,

Till motives that might warm an ague's frost,
And nerve the coward's arm, shall poorly serve
To wake us to resistance?-Let us on?
O, yes, I read your lovely fierce impatience;
You shall not be withheld; we will rush on
them--

This is indeed to triumph, where we hold
Three kingdoms in our toil! is it not glorious,
Thus to appal the bold, meet force with fury,
And push yon torrent back, till every wave
Flee to its fountain?

[more 3d Dale. On, lead us on, Gustavus; one word Is but delay of conquest.

Gus. Take your wish.

He who wants arms may grapple with the foe,
And so be furnish'd. You, most noble Anderson,
Divide our pow'rs, and with the fam'd Olaus
Take the left route-You, Eric, great in arms!
With the renown'd Nederbi, hold the right,
And skirt the forest down: then wheel at once,
Confess'd to view, and close up all the vale:
Myself, and my most valiant cousin here,
Th' invincible Arvida, gallant Sivard,
Arnoldus, and these hundred hardy vet'rans,
Will pour directly on, and lead the onset.
Joy, joy, I see confess'd from ev'ry eye,
Your limbs tread vig'rous, and your breasts
beat high!

Thin tho' our ranks, tho' scanty be our bands,
Bold are our hearts, and nervous are our hands.
With us, truth, justice, fame, and freedom close,
Each singly equal to an host of foes:
I feel, I feel them fill me out for fight!
They lift my limbs as feather'd Hermes light!
Or like the bird of glory, tow'ring high [eye!
Thunder within his grasp, and lightning in his

$42. Gustavus and Cristiern.

BROOKE. Crist. TELL me, Gustavus, tell me why is this,

That, as a stream diverted from the banks
Of smooth obedience, thou hast drawn those

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Too narrow for thy claim. But if thou think'st | To wrath and bitterness. Ye hallow'd men,

That crowns are vilely propertied, like coin,
To be the means, the speciality of lust,
And sensual attribution; if thou think'st
That empire is of titled birth or blood;
That nature, in the proud behalf of one,
Shall disenfranchise all her lordly race,
And bow her gen'ral issue to the yoke

Of private domination; then, thou proud one,
Here know me for thy king. Howe'er, be told,
Not claim hereditary, not the trust
Of frank election,

Not even the high anointing hand of Heaven,
Can authorize oppression, give a law
For lawless pow'r, wed faith to violation,
On reason build misrule, or justly bind
Allegiance to injustice. Tyranny
Absolves all faith; and who invades our rights,
Howe'er his own commence, can never be
But an usurper. But for thee, for thee
There is no name. Thou hast abjur'd mankind,
Dash'd safety from thy bleak, unsocial side,
And wag'd wild war with universal nature.
Crist. Licentious traitor! thou canst talk it
largely.

Who made thee umpire of the rights of kings,
And pow'r, prime attribute--as on thy tongue
The poise of battle lay, and arms of force,
To throw defiance in the front of duty?
Look round, unruly boy! thy battle comes
Like raw, disjointed must'ring, feeble wrath,
A war of waters, borne against the rock
Of our firm continent, to fume, and chafe,
And shiver in the toil.

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Gus. Yes, I know,

When such as thou, with sacrilegious hand,
Seize on the apostolic key of heaven,
It then becomes a tool for crafty knaves
To shut out virtue, and unfold those gates
That heaven itself had barr'd against the lusts
Of avarice and ambition. Soft and sweet
As looks of charity, or voice of lambs
That bleat upon the mountain, are the words
Of Christian meekness! mission all divine!
The law of love sole mandate. But your gall,
Ye Swedish prelacy, your gall hath turn'd
The words of sweet, but indigested peace,

In whom vice sanctifies, whose precepts teach Zeal without truth, religion without virtue; Who ne'er preach heaven but with a downward eye, [loose That turns your souls to dross! who, shouting, The dogs of hell upon us. Thefts and rapes, Sack'd towns, and midnight howlings thro' the realm,

Receive your sanction. O, 'tis glorious mischief!

When vice turns holy, puts religion on,
Assumes the robe pontifical, the eye
Of saintly elevation, blesseth sin,

And makes the seal of sweet offended Heaven
A sign of blood, a label for decrees
That hell would shrink to own.

Crist. No more of this.

Gustavus, wouldst thou yet return to grace, And hold thy motions in the sphere of duty, Acceptance might be found.

Gus. Imperial spoiler !

Give me my father, give me back my kindred! Give me the fathers of ten thousand orphans, Give me the sons in whom thy ruthless sword Has left our widows childless. Mine they were, Both mine and ev'ry Swede's, whose patriot breast

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$43. Brutus and Titus. LEE.

Bru. WELL, Titus, speak; how is it with thee now?

I would attend a while this mighty motion,
Wait till the tempest were quite overblown,
That I may take thee in the calm of nature,
With all thy gentler virtues brooding on thee;
So hush'd a stillness, as if all the gods
Look'd down, and listen'd to what we were say-
Speak then, and tell me, O my best belov'd,'
My son, my Titus, is all well again? [thing:

[ing;

Tit. So well, that saying how inust make it noSo well, that I could wish to die this moment, For so my heart with powerful throbs persuades

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From whom, to a soul so sensible as mine, Each single scorn would be far worse than dying: Besides, I'scape the stings of my own consience, Which will for ever rack me with remembrance, Haunt me by day, and torture me by night, Casting my blotted honor in the way Where'er my melancholy thoughts shall guide

me.

Brut. But is not death a very dreadful thing? Tit. Not to a mind resolv'd. No, sir, to me It seems as natural as to be born:

Groans, and convulsions, and discolor'd faces,
Friends weeping round us, blacks and obsequies,
Make it a dreadful thing; the pomp of death
Is far more terrible than death itself.
Yes, Sir, I call the pow'rs of heav'n to witness,
Titus dares die, if so you have decreed;
Nay, he shall die with joy to honor Brutus,
To make your justice famous thro' the world,
And fix the liberty of Rome for ever.
Not but I must confess my weakness too;
Yet it is great thus to resolve against it,
To have the frailty of a mortal man,
But the security of the immortal gods.

Brut. O Titus! O thou absolute young man!
Thou flatt'ring mirror of thy father's image,
Where I behold myself at such advantage!
Thou perfect glory of the Junian race!
Let me endear thee once more to my bosom,
Groan an eternal farewell to thy soul;
Instead of tears, weep blood, if possible,
Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus on his child:
For thou must die, iny Titus, die, my son;
I swear the gods have doom'd thee to the grave:
The violated genius of thy country
Rears his sad head, and passes sentence on thee:
This morning sun, that lights my sorrows on
To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance,
Shall never see thee more.

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Why all these trappings for a traitor's hearse? The gods will have it so.

Brut They will, my Titus:

Nor heaven nor earth can have it otherwise.
Nay, Titus, mark: the deeper that I search,
My harass'd soul returns the more confirm'd;
Methinks I see the very hand of Jove
Moving the dreadful wheels of this affair,
That whirl thee, like a machine, to thy fate.
It seems as if the gods had pre-ordain'd it,
To fix the reeling spirits of the people,
And settle the loose liberty of Rome.
'Tis fix'd; therefore let not fancy fond thee:
So fix'd thy death, that it is not in the pow r
Of gods or men to save thee from the axe.
Tit. The axe! O Heaven! then must I fall
so basely?

What, shall I perish by the common hangman? Brut. It thou deny me this, thou giv'st me nothing.

Yes, Titus, since the gods have so decreed That I must lose thee, I will take the advantage Of thy important fate, cement Rome's flaws,

And heal her wounded freedom with thy blood:
I will ascend myself the sad tribunal,
And sit upon my sons; on thee, my Titus;
Behold thee suffer all the shame of death,
The lictor's lashes, bleed before the people;
Then with thy hopes, and all thy youth upon
thee,

See thy head taken by the common axe,
Without a groan, without one pitying tear,
If that the gods can hold me to my purpose,
To make my justice quite transcend example.
Tit. Scourg'd like a bondman! ah! a beaten
slave!

But I deserve it all; yet here I fail!
The image of this suff'ring quite unmans me;
Nor can I longer stop the gushing tears.
O, Sir! O, Brutus! must I call you father,
Yet have no token of your tenderness?
No sign of mercy? What, not bate me that!
Can you resolve, O all th' extremity
Of cruel rigor! to behold me too?

To sit unmov'd, and see me whipt to death!
Where are your bowels now? Is this a father?
Ah, Sir, why should you make my heart suspect
That all your late compassion was dissembled?
How can I think that you did ever love me?

Brut. Think that I love thee by my present

passion,

By these unmanly tears, these earthquakes here,
These sighs, that twitch the very strings of life:
Think that no other cause on earth can move me
To tremble thus, to sob, or shed a tear,
Nor shake my solid virtue from her point,
But Titus' death: O do not call it shameful,
That thus shall fix the glory of the world.
I own thy suff'rings ought t'unman me thus,
To make me throw my body on the ground,
To bellow like a beast, to gnaw the earth,
To tear my hair, to curse the cruel fates,
That force a father thus to drag his bowels.

Tit. O rise, thou violated majesty!
Rise from the earth, or I shall beg those fates
Which you would curse, to bolt me to the centre.
I now submit to all your threaten'd vengeance:
Come forth, you executioners of justice,
Nay, all your lictors, slaves, and common hang-

men,

Come, strip me bare, unrobe me in his sight, And lash me till I bleed, whip me like furies! And when you've scourg'd me till I foam and fall,

For want of spirits, grovelling in the dust, Then take my head, and give it his revenge; By all the gods, I greedily resign it!

Brut. No more-farewell, eternally farewell! If there be gods, they will reserve a room, A throne for thee in heaven. One last embrace! What is it makes thy eyes thus swim again? Tit. I had forgot: be good to Teraminta When I am in ashes.

Brut. Leave her to my care. See her thou must not, for thou canst not bear it. O for one more, this pull, this tug of heartstrings!

Farewell for ever!

Tit. O Brutus! O my father!
Brut. Canst thou not say farewell?

Tit. Farewell for ever!

Brut. Forever then! but O, my tears run o'er; Groans choak my words, and I can speak no

more.

$44. Lady Randolph, Lord Randolph, and young Norval, not known at the time to be Lady Randolph's Son. HOME.

Lady Ran. How fares my lord?

Lord Run. That it fares well, thanks to this gallant youth,

Whose valor sav'd me from, a wretched death.
As down the winding dale I walk'd alone,
At the cross way four armed men attacked me,
Rovers I judge from the licentious camp,
Who would have quickly laid Lord Randolph
low,

Had not this brave and generous stranger come,
Like my good angel, in the hour of iate,
And, arocking danger, nade my foes his own.
They turn'd upon him: but his active arm
Struck to the ground, from whence they rose

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The fiercest two: the others fled amain,
And left him master of the bloody field.
Speak, Lady Randolph; upon beauty's tongue
Dwell accents pleasing to the brave and bold.
Speak, noble dame, and thank him for thy lord.
Lady Ran. My lord, I cannot speak what
now I feel.

My heart o'erflows with gratitude to Heaven,
And to this noble youth, who, all unknown
To you and yours, deliberated not,

Nor paus'd at peril-but, humanely brave, Fought on your side against such fearful odds. Have you yet learnt of him whom we should thank,

Whom call tile saviour of Lord Randolph's life? Lera kan. I ask'd that question, and he an swer'd not;

But I must know who my deliverer is.

[To the Stranger. Nory. A low-born man, of parentage obscure, Who nought can boast but his desire to be A soldier, and to gain a name in arms. Lord Ran. Whoe'er thou art, thy spirit is ennobled

By the great King of kings: thou art ordain'd
And stamp'd a hero by the sovereign hand
Of nature! Blush not, flow'r of modesty
As well as valor, to declare thy birth.

Nore. My name is Norval: on the Grampian
Hills

My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep is only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles: and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord;
And Heaven soon granted what my sire denied.
This moon, which rose last night round as my
shield,

Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians from the hills
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds
fled

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For safety, and for succour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took: then hasted to my friends;
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.
We fought and conquer'd. Ere a sword was
drawn,

An arrow from my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life: and having heard
That our good king had summon'd his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps:
Yon trembling coward, who forsook his master.
Journeyingwith this intent, I pass'd these tow'rs;
And, heaven-directed, came this day to do
The happy deed that gilds ny humble name.
Lord Kan. He is as wise as brave: was ever
tale

With such a gallant modesty rehears'd?
My brave deliv'rer! thou shalt enter now
A nobler list; and, in a monarch's sight,
Contend with princes for the prize of fame.
I will present thee to our Scottish king,
Whose valiant spirit ever valor lov'd.
Ha! my Matilda! wherefore starts that tear?
Lady Ran. I cannot say; for various affec-

tions,

And strangely mingled, in my bosom swell:
Yet each of them may well command a tear.
I joy that thou art safe; and 1 admire
Him, and his fortunes, who hath wrought thy
safety ;

Yea, as my mind predicts, with thine his own.
Obscure and friendless, he the army sought ;
Bent upon peril, in the range of death

Resolv'd to hunt for fame, and with his sword
To gain distinction which his birth denied.
In this attempt unknown he might have pe-
rish'd,

And gain'd with all his valor but oblivion.
Now grac'd by thee, his virtue serves no more
Beneath despair. The soldier now of hope,
He stands conspicuous: faine and great renown
Are brought within the compass of his sword.
On this tny mind reflected, whilst you spoke,
And bless'd the wonder-working hand of Hea-

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My knight; and ever, as thou didst to-day,
With happy valor guard the life of Randolph.
Lord Ran. Well hast thou spoke. Let me
forbid reply.
[To Norval.
We are thy debtors still; thy high desert
O'ertops our gratitude. I must proceed,
As was at first intended, to the camp;
Some of my train, I see, are speeding hither,
Impatient doubtless of their lord's delay.
Go with me, Norval; and thine eyes shall see
The chosen warriors of thy native land,
Who languish for the fight, and beat the air
With brandish'd swords.

Norv. Let us begone, my lord.

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And inaccessible by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains.
Austere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the shepherds' alms.
I went to see him; and my heart was touch'd
With reverence and with pity. Mild he spake,
And ent'ring on discourse, such stories told,
As made me oft revisit his sad cell.
For he had been a soldier in his youth;
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against the usurping infidel display'd
The cross of Christ, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire
His speech struck from me, the old man would
shake

His years away, and act his young encounters: Then, having show'd his wounds, he'd sit him down,

And all the live-long day discourse of war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts;
Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use
Of the deep column, and the lengthen'd line,
The square, the crescent, and phalanx firm;
For all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.

Unhappy man!

Returning homewards by Messina's port,
Loaded with wealth and honors bravely won,
A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea
Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought;
The stranger fell; and with his dying breath,
Declar'd his name and lineage. Mighty God!
The soldier cried, my brother! O my brother!
-They exchang'd forgiveness:
And happy, in my mind, was he that died;
For many deaths has the surviver suffer'd.
In the wild desert on a rock he sits,
Upon some nameless stream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate.
At times, alas! nor in his perfect mind,
Holds dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost;

And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch, To make sad orisons for him he slew.

$46. Douglas's Soliloquy in the Wood, waiting for Lady Randolph, after he was known to be her Son. Номе.

THIS is the place, the centre of the grove. Here stands the oak, the monarch of the wood! How sweet and solemn is this midnight scene! The silver moon, unclouded, holds her way Thro' skies, where I could count each little star. The fanning west-wind scarcely stirs the leaves; The river, rushing o'er its pebbled bed, Imposes silence with a stilly sound. In such a place as this, at such an hour, If ancestry can be in aught believ'd, Descending spirits have convers'd with man, And told the secrets of the world unknown.

Eventful day! how hast thou chang'd my state!
Once on the cold and winter-shaded side
Of a bleak hill mischance had rooted me,
Never to thrive, child of another soil;
Transplanted now to the gay sunny vale,
Like the green thorn of May, my fortune flow'rs.
Yeglorious stars! high heaven's resplendent host!
To whom I oft have of my lot complain'd,
Hear, and record my soul's unalter'd wish!
Dead or alive, let me but be renown'd!
May Heav'n inspire some fierce gigantic Dane
To give a bold defiance to our host!
Before he speaks it out, I will accept:
Like DOUGLAS Conquer, or like DOUGLAS die.

§ 47. CATO. ADDISON.

ACT I.

Enter Portius and Marcus.

Por. THE dawn is overcast, the morning low'rs,

And heavily in clouds brings on the day;
The

great, th' important day, big with the fate
Of Cato and of Rome-our father's death
Would fill up all the guilt of civil war,
And close the scene of blood. Already Cæsar
Has ravag'd more than half the globe, and sees
Mankind grown thin by his destructive sword:
Should he go farther, numbers would be want-
ing

To form new battles and support his crimes.
Ye gods, what havoc does ambition make
Among your works!

Marc. Thy steady temper, Portius,
Can look on guilt, rebellion, fraud, and Cæsar,
In the calm lights of mild philosophy;
I'm tortur'd e'en to madness, when I think
On the proud victor: ev'ry time he's nam'd
Pharsalia rises to my view!-I see

Th' insulting tyrant prancing o'er the field, Strew'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter,

His horse's hoofs wet with patrician blood!
O Portius! is there not some chosen curse,

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